


Because.

by redambitions (viridianlight)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Divorce, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianlight/pseuds/redambitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><i> I can't be alone I can't I can't I can't be alone. Please don't leave me alone. </i><br/>-----</p>
</div>Courfeyrac loves this very skinny, very white, very freckled boy sleeping in his bed.<p>He is good at what he does: he makes people happy and they hurt him in return. That's just how it works. And yet, the one person who could complete him -- this pure-hearted dark haired boy -- is so completely and utterly out of his league. Hell, the kid is more than probably straight.</p><p>And that would leave Courfeyrac all alone.</p><p>All alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter name from Shine A Light (Reprise) - Heathers the Musical
> 
> It makes me incredibly upset that there are very few (if any) long term Courf/Marius high school fics out there because Courf/Marius are my precious babies and I've read through their entire tag and I need more. So I present to you, a Courf/Marius high school, angsty, sad but fluffy (and hopefully happy?) fic
> 
> [[Gun and mild violence warning]]

It's dark, really dark. Courfeyrac holds his hand out in front of him, and turns it around a few times. He can’t see it. He can’t really feel it either so it’s very possible that his hand has just disappeared from existence. All he can see is blackness, but maybe it’s just because his eyes don’t work? Maybe it’s because his eyes have disappeared as well?

It's quiet, too quiet. Courfeyrac is used to having either his crazy friends or his rowdy family around him or music and his own singing blasting in his ears. But he can’t hear anything. It feels like he’s suffocating in the silence and he tries to speak. He can’t. He tries to scream, just to hear himself but he can’t. His ears and mouth might be gone as well.

And Courfeyrac is alone, completely and utterly alone.

Alone.

 _Alone_.

He's suffocating in the heavy blackness that envelops him. Courfeyrac can barely breathe. He wants to sink onto his knees and gasp for air but he can't, he really can't so he runs. He runs and runs and runs (at least he still has legs apparently) and... isn't there supposed to be a light? There's always a light at the end of the tunnel, right?

 _Right_?!

But... he doesn't see a light (are his eyes still gone?!). But there just has to be, there has to be one so he keeps running, keeps running but he can't breathe, he can't breathe and his desperate gasps are the only sound in the darkness.

Until he hears the first shriek.

The screams begin and suddenly he can see again. Then the hands appear and are reaching for him and scratching at his face and Courfeyrac spins, trying to swat and push the phantom bodies away. His face is scratched, his clothes are being ripped by the straining hands and voices are now calling for him:

"Danny, Danny," his oldest sister screams, her auburn hair alight with angry fire. Her green eyes are entirely red and bleeding. "It's your fault, it's all your fault, it's all your fault!"

"Your fault, your fault, your fault!" His other sisters chant back and echo around him. "All your fault!"

Courfeyrac spins round and round, their angry faces keeping moving and biting and yelling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he screams, feeling his throat blistering as he inhales the fire they’re exhaling. “I’m sorry, I swear, I’m so sorry! Please!”

"You're the worst son!" Now his mother is yelling at him, her warm floral dress only a whisper in the flaming abyss. Her brown waves are chopped short and the hairs are burning up around them. "You forced us to split up; you're the worst son!"

"Worst, worst, worst!" his sisters echo. "We are the perfect children, you are the worst, worst, worst!

"We loved each other!" His dad's deeper voice now interjects amidst the female screams surrounding Courfeyrac. "You're the one we hated! We loved each other and you made us break up!"

The shrieks continue -- for what is it? Hours, days, weeks? -- and Courfeyrac starts screaming himself, crouching down with his hands over his ears. Why can’t his ears disappear again? Why can’t his eyes disappear again? Why can't _he_ just disappear into the abyss too?! The voices and darkness overwhelm him and he's burning, the flames are eating him (please just let them eat him all up) until... it all disappears, replaced by a cold object pressing itself against his forehead.

Courfeyrac opens the eyes he didn't know he had closed to find his favorite sister, his mentor, his rock, holding a gun to his head. Her chocolate locks are still there, curling around her tilted face. Her loose comic book shirt is still there, not charred or burned away. Her skinny jeans are still tucked into her boots and her boots are still laced up with striped laces. The only difference is that she’s holding a fucking gun in her fucking hand.

"Devyn," Courfeyrac manages to whisper through his cracked mouth. "Devyn, Devyn, please..." He’s kneeling at her feet now, starting to reach out towards her shoes. He’s tempted to kiss her feet, if it would appease her. He would worship his sister like a goddess if that would turn her blank stare back into her usual wide grin. “Devyn, c’mon. Please…”

She doesn't say anything. She just smiles. But it’s not her smile. It’s a terrible smile. The smile of a killer.

"Should've done this a long time ago."

Courfeyrac looks her right in the eye.

She squeezes the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Les Mis Instagram page: @song_of_the_barricade (currently @deck_the_barricades for the holidays!)


End file.
